


good dogs (stay at the heel)

by northernmongrel



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, B.O.B is missing in action, F/F, M/M, Physical Abuse, Power Imbalance, Shapeshifting, Unhealthy Relationships, Wolf Jesse McCree
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-24
Updated: 2021-02-24
Packaged: 2021-03-15 09:53:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,754
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29682165
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/northernmongrel/pseuds/northernmongrel
Summary: Young Jesse McCree finds himself running weapons with Ashe. A business deal with a government agent throws a hitch in things.
Relationships: Elizabeth Caledonia Ashe/Jesse McCree, Elizabeth Caledonia Ashe/Sombra | Olivia Colomar, Jesse McCree/Reaper | Gabriel Reyes
Comments: 2
Kudos: 10





	good dogs (stay at the heel)

**Author's Note:**

> A few months in the making. Please heed the tags. Yes, B.O.B is MIA for this story.

The first time Elizabeth Caledonia Ashe puts a cigarette out on Jesse’s arm, they’re in Los Lunas, New Mexico. It burns a hole into the soft skin of his wrist. So he snatches the closest thing—a bottle of warm beer from the the nightstand, and hits Ashe over the head. The bottle shatters. Glass and warm beer and _blood_ smatter his skin. 

Jesse is twenty-two. He sits there, naked on the mattress. He watches the watery blood drip down Ashe’s brow, watches as she licks her upper lip and blinks slowly. It tastes like passed around pennies and yeast. Jesse can taste it at the back of his mouth. He also tastes Ashe. _Elizabeth_. 

“—Fuck. Sorry. I’m sorry.”

“You best be.” 

Jesse suck in a breath. His diaphragm shakes. There’s glass between his fingers. On the mattress. 

“Stand up, get in the damn bathroom,” Ashe says. Jesse obeys. 

The hotel bathroom is tiny. The tiles yellow, the faucet rusty. Ashe turns on the cold water, but it comes out lukewarm and brown. She sighs, shakes the braid loose from her hair and steps in. Jesse watches as she rinses the blood and glass from her skull. He offers her the bar of soap from beside the sink, and waits his turn.

Ashe walks around the hotel room naked as Jesse rinses off. He had to wash anyhow, broken beer bottle aside. They’ve been on the road for three days now. There’s dust and salt on his skin. He watches the murky water circle the drain. He perks his head up when Ashe enters the room with a towel.

“Here ya’ go. Hurry up, I need you to stitch me up. Fix what you did.”

Ashe sits on the toilet seat while Jesse sews the gash on her skull with dental floss and a sewing needle. He tries hard, but the stitches come out crooked. He keeps pinching her skin, and she keeps taking swigs of warm beer. 

It’s 02:30 in the morning. The hotel room is stifling. Ashe doesn’t bother putting back on clothes, so neither does Jesse. He sprawls naked beside Ashe on the mattress. Watches the shallow rise and fall of her chest, and feels bad about smashing a bottle over her head. _Feels guilty_. He hardly sleeps. 

They leave Los Lunas the next day. Ashe doesn’t mention it. No until the two days later when they arrive in Santa Fe hunkered down in the back of a pickup truck that belongs to an old maize farmer. The old man drives them to the city centre, and doesn’t ask any questions. 

“Feels good to be home, don’t it?” Ashe sighs. They’re eating sweet pastries and coffee on the street side. She has her boots kicked up on a plastic table, watching the traffic and people bustle about their business. 

“Sure does. How long we plan on staying?” Jesse asks. 

“As long as we need. Gotta tie up a few loose strings. You know that deal we did down in El Paso? Yeah, that one,” Ashe says, licks icing sugar off her thumb. 

“Yeah, got it,” Jesse takes a sip of coffee.

Ashe tips her head back, fully at ease amongst the chaos of downtown Santa Fe. Jesse has to remind his muscles to relax. He mimics the way Ashe splays her legs, tips the brim of her stetson. He takes another sip of coffee.

“So. You gotta tell me, does this stuff taste like trash to you?” Ashe raises the half-eaten pastry in question. 

“Don’t taste _bad_ , if that’s what you’re asking,” Jesse shrugs. 

“But not good.”

Jesse shrugs again. 

“So you’re saying. If I were to pull a racoon outta the trash can, you’d be a happy fella?”

Jesse cracks a smile at that. Ashe smirks. They both know its an insult. 

“This stuff is good. But it don’t satisfy in the same way.” 

“How about cigarettes? You like those don’t you?”

“Yeah, sure,” Jesse shrugs. 

“Smoke’n is bad for you Jesse McCree. Ain’t your ma’ mention that before?”

“Yeah, she might’ve.” 

Ashe snorts. Wipes sticky fingers on her jeans, and rocks back on her plastic chair.

“Ain’t that cute. _Jesse’s mama_ ,” Ashe tries out the word, and smirks. 

Jesse flashes his teeth, and knows it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. He doesn’t bother to tell Ashe anything more about his mama, prays he never has to. 

Ashe ends up shooting their contact in Santa Fe. A clean shot through the head, an extra in the chest _just because_. There’s blood and brain matter. Jesse ends up chasing three men through the back alleys of the northern district. It’s a good night. The moon is third quarter and the clouds are thin. He returns to Ashe with a bloody muzzle and a man’s chewed-up arm between his jaws. 

He sits on the kitchen floor of the villa, tail thumping against the tiles. 

“Well don’t you look pleased with yourself,” Ashe says. She runs a hand through the thick fir on his neck, and Jesse can’t help himself. He preens, shakes out his hackles and drops the chewed-up arm at Ashe’s feet. 

Jesse can’t change back that night. Too strung up, he sits at the end of Ashe’s bed with his bloody chin rest on the sheets. He waits for Ashe to pat the mattress beside her before jumping up and curling up against her side. Tucks his nose beneath the bush of his tail and doesn’t sleep a wink. Ashe passes out quick, her soft breath warm against his fur. 

The next morning they have to leave. Ashe isn’t exactly welcome in Santa Fe no more, but on the flip side she secured more business back in Arizona. Jesse watches her make coffee in the kitchen of the Villa, ears perked and tail thumping against the mattress. Ashe leans against the kitchen counter, slicing an orange directly into her mouth. The radio is crackling, yolky sunlight streams in. 

“Don’t look at me like that,” Ashe says and shakes her head. She pops another slice of orange into her mouth, “Don’t look at me with those eyes.”

Jesse lets out a low whine. His tail thumps a little slower. 

Ashe sighs. She lights a cigarette and taps it into the kitchen sink.

“We gotta leave. And not like _that_ , kinda obvious. Get over here.”

Jesse obeys. He presses into Ashe’s legs, staring up into her eyes, tongue lolled out to the side. He lets Ashe press the cigarette into the tender skin between his shoulder blades. It smoulders his fur, and he only yelps once this time. He shifts back to a naked man panting like a dog on the kitchen floor. 

“Well. Least you didn’t try to take my hand off this time.”

“Yeah. Sorry ‘bout that,” Jesse huffs. His ribcage strains against skin as he tries to catch his breath. 

“Does it hurt?”

“What?”

“Changing shape.”

“When I was younger, yeah. Like your bones are bending. But it gets better. Doesn’t hurt so much these days.”

“I heard it hurts like fuck. But hey, what do I know. You ever long to be around you kind? Isn’t that a dog thing,” Ashe flicks orange peel into the kitchen sink. 

Jesse swallows. He presses his temple against the cool of the kitchen tile, too stubborn to answer. 

“Might be good for you. _Socializing_ , ain’t that a good thing for dogs?” and it sounds like a dirty _dirty_ word on her tongue. 

“Yeah, sure,” Jesse mutters.

“Whatever you say darling. But put some goddamn clothes on, we’re heading back to Arizona. And do something with that arm in the bedroom. Don’t want room service finding it now.”

Jesse runs around with Ashe for a while. The business side of things expands down through Santa Fe, all the way to El Paso. Ashe keeps the accounts in check, and Jesse at her right hand side. He turns twenty-three. They eat milk cake and drink beer on a hotel rooftop in New Mexico. Ashe burns more holes into his arm but it becomes familiar, something Jesse needs. He sleeps in the same bed as Ashe—or on the floor if he’s a wolf because Ashe doesn’t always like the weight against her at night, and his smothering heat. 

And Jesse aches for something. He roams a little more, runs around as a wolf whenever Ashe isn’t demanding his presence. He roves the back alleys of New Mexico in frustration, rummaging through garbage and chases off stray dogs. _Unsatisfied_. 

They’re back in El Paso doing business at a warehouse by the Rio Grande river in late August.

“You’re gonna meet Sombra. And I want you to be on your best behaviour, you hear me?” Ashe says with her head tipped back. She’s sitting in a chair, Mateo touching up the red roses on her arm under the buzz of a tattoo gun. 

Jesse can smell the blood. He watches the feverous punch and prick of the tattoo gun, and wets the corner of his mouth. 

“—I’ve known her for a while. She used to run omnic parts through the US border. Now she’s hanging out with hackers. Data miners. Deals with blackmarket info.”

“Sounds interesting,” Jesse drawls. 

“She’s fuck’n around with a government operative. Which is why we’re here to see her.”

“Fuck’n around?”

“Not literally. I mean, who knows. But apparently she got a heads up on a weapons shipment. Good tech. Experimental. I want in.” 

“Right,” Jesse nods. 

“And you’re gonna behave yourself. I want this one.”

Jesse nods. 

Ashe sighs, shifts backwards in the chair. The tattoo gun buzzes. 

“Reckon it’s time you get one of your own.”

“Ink?”

“Yeah. You’ve been good these past few months. _Helpful_. Reckon people should know who you run with. You got time for another?” Ashe asks Mateo. 

Mateo nods, wipes inky blood from Ashe’s skin and looks at Jesse. 

“Yeah, got time for another.”

“Good. Take a shot of whiskey Jesse, it’ll help for your first time,” Ashe orders, and Jesse obeys. 

It turns out Sombra has a taste for the shadier things in life. They meet at illegal distillery in El Paso’s downtown. It’s nestled beneath a packing house, and specializes in omnic grade alcohol; distilled fuel. Ashe orders for the both them, a purple hued liquid in a tall glass. It sweats in Jesse’s palm as they shove their way through fellow patrons. Human and omnic alike. 

Sombra is at the back corner, tucked into a hazy booth with a lollipop hanging out the corner of his mouth. When she sees them, she sits up straight and waves a hand. 

“Evening,” Ashe takes off her stetson and holds it to her chest. It’s such a refined gesture—so unlike Ashe that Jesse stutters for a moment.

“Take your damn hat off at the table Jesse,” Ashe mutters, and Jesse fumbles to obey. He tucks it onto the seat and sidles in beside Ashe. 

“Candy?” Sombra shoves a bowl of lollipops towards Jesse, and he accepts. It gives him something to focus, peeling off the paper wrapper. The pounding music hurts his ears. His heart pounds loud in his skull and he swallows. _He’s annoyed_. He wishes Ashe had come by herself. Dislikes the way she pulls away from him so that their elbows don’t touch and her eyes settle on the woman across the table. 

“It’s mango. Not poison, I promise,” Sombra says. She eyes Jesse with a delicately arched brow and a coy grin on her mouth. _Knowing_. 

“Yeah, thanks,” he says, and pops the candy into his mouth. 

“Elizabeth, you made him sound like an uncultured kid,” Sombra says, turning away from Jesse.

“Yeah, well. He bites.” Ashe sniffs, and takes a sip of her drink.

Sombra flashes her teeth, “Maybe we can go for jaunt later. There’s a sweet restaurant open on the outskirts of town. Great food. Ashe, have you been skimping on the food? Kid’s all bone.”

“Yeah, he’s spindly. Now, I’d like to talk business,” Ashe says, and Sombra sighs and rolls her eyes at Jesse, over dramatic. He pops the candy into his mouth and settles down into his seat. 

It’s 11:30 at night when they finally leave. They’ve all had a few drinks, Sombra has her arm looped through Ashe’s as they stumble down the alleyway. Jesse follows behind, watches as Ashe tucks a strand of loose hair behind Sombra’s ear. His stomach lurches, and he throws up on the street corner. His knees shake and his eyes water.

“Ah, _amigo_. Too much of the good stuff tonight. Omnic grade brew will do that to you,” Sombra says and pats Jesse on the back. 

“Straighten up Jesse. We’re almost back at the hotel,” Ashe exhales smoke into the streetlight, and lets Sombra languidly snatch the cigarette from her fingers before sticking her tongue in Ashe’s mouth. 

“Yeah, gotcha,” he says. He spits foul from his mouth. He follows back to the hotel, blacks out on the stairs up and when he comes to, he’s lying on the bedroom carpet. Ashe and Sombra are in bed together. Ashe’s legs are propped up beneath the bed sheets, and Sombra is buried between them. He can smell sex. _He can smell Ashe_. And it’s all too much. He crawls out of the bedroom and curls up on the cool tiles of the bathroom floor. He closes his eyes and lets his bones splinter and crack. He tucks his nose beneath the fur of his tail and falls asleep as a wolf that night. 

Sombra is in the kitchen the next morning when Jesse stumbles out of the bathroom. 

“Oh looks who’s still alive. Here, drink this,” Sombra shoves a glass of water into Jesse’s hands. He watches her spoon sugar into a bowl of cereal and fill it with milk. He feels blank.

“Hey. No hard feelings, right _amigo_?”

“Yeah, sure,” Jesse swallows, his throat dry. 

“Here. Sit down before you fall down. Let’s have a little chat, yeah? Just the two of us. Ashe is out for the morning. Don’t worry, she’ll be back by tonight. Don’t look so worried,” Sombra says, and shoves a spoonful of cereal into her mouth.

“We haven’t properly been introduced. _Sombra_. I’ve known Ashe for a few years. Before you came around.”

“And you know I’m a—” Jesse trails off with a shrug. 

“Werewolf? Shapeshifter? Yeah, Ashe may have mentioned it before. Not surprised. Not _really_. I know there’s a few of you kicking around. My old _abuela_ was a woman of medicine and stranger things. I know a lonely dog when I see one.”

Jesse nods slowly. He takes a mouthful of water. 

“You hunt?”

“Not really.”

“I’d ask if you have family, but I get the impression you don’t. Not if you’re hanging around Ashe. Shame. Really. You’re parents fucked off?”

“Yeah, something like that.”

Sombra nods slowly, eyes him with a thin mouth and sparkly eyes. She takes a mouthful of cereal.

“Ashe is hungry for family. Don’t let that fool you. You don’t seem like a fool, Jesse. And that’ll get you places.”

“We work together.”

“No _amigo_. You work for her. Big difference. I’m just saying, she’ll eat you up and spit you back out. Pick your bones from between her teeth with a toothpick.”

Jesse fidgets, and suddenly feels too naked in front of Sombra’s nonchalant gaze. He takes another sip of water. 

“ _Gabriel Reyes,”_ Sombra says the name through a mouthful of sugary cereal, “That’s the man she’s gonna stick you on. Blackwatch agent. Big name, serious business. He wormed his way in through some loopholes. Thinks he’s playing us, but I know better.”

“How did you find him out?”

“I got the gift,” Sombra smirks and flexes her fingers. 

“Ashe is going to bite off more than she can chew. But you? Keep those teeth sharp, _amigo,”_ Sombra smiles, and continues to munch on her breakfast in the hazy morning light. 

Jesse meets Gabriel Reyes at a church on Sunday morning on the outskirts of the city. The stained glass above the altar is cracked, and there’s a bee’s nest nestled up between the rafters, it hums with life. Jesse removes his stetson. 

“It’ been abandoned for at least a decade. No need,” Gabriel calls out. The man is leant against the pulpit—arms crossed, watching Jesse enter the church. Jesse settles his hat back on his head as he walks through the pews. 

“Jesse McCree.”

“Gabriel Reyes. Ashe sent you in her place?”

“No, she never meant to come. Ain’t really her thing.”

“I see.”

“Do you smoke?” Jesse asks, pulls a cigarette packet from his back pocket and thrusts it towards Gabriel.

“Sure do, thanks kid,” Gabriel says, and takes what is offered. Jesse sits on a church pew, unsure how to proceed. _Arrange weapon shipments to El Paso._ Smile. Charm the government agent. In hindsight, Ashe’s advise was hilariously destructive. Jesse taps ash onto the floorboards. 

Gabriel exhales deeply. Jesse can smell the man from ten feet away. He smells of pine—sagebrush—sweet dust. And a hint of musk mingled with sweat. Jesse’s mouth waters at the corner. 

“Some advice, Jesse. Never show up to a business meeting unarmed,” Gabriel says, “Secondly. Offer the nicety—” Gabriel waves the cigarette, “—and then cut down to the business.”

“Right,” Jesse nods, quick. _Nervous_. 

“Ashe wants a connection to some weapons. I’m here to supply. You give me a time, I’ll make it happen.”

Jesse blinks dust from his eye, swats a bee that buzzes too close to his face. Tries hard to remember what Ashe told him to say.

“Warehouse six, down by the Rio Grande. Ashe will be there for 9:00. No later.”

“And the payment?”

“Whatever currency you take.”

Gabriel nods, “Good. Next time we do business, I expect the same formality. I have further business in El Paso, but expect delivery on time,” Gabriel says. He places his cigarette on the pulpit still smouldering, and walks out the church’s door. Doesn’t bother to glance back at Jesse who is still seated on the pew bench. _Next time_. There’s a lurch in his stomach. The rev of a motorbike engine jars him back, and suddenly he’s alone in the church. Bees buzzing in the dry August heat. _Alone_. 

Ashe receives her shipment of weapons, as planned. She’s smug about this little profit, pleased with Jesse. But doesn’t invite him out for drinks with Sombra the next night, or the night after that. She locks Jesse out of the villa like an unwanted dog while they fuck. So he purchases a cheap bottle of tequila and sulks in a bar. It’s 01:00 in the morning, he resting his head on the countertop when Gabriel sidles up beside him. 

“One whiskey on ice.”

“ _You,_ ” Jesse lifts his head. 

“Don’t strain yourself. It’s a small world.”

“Can I—”

“Not here on business. Also, I don’t know you well. But you look like shit.”

“Thanks,” Jesse mutters. He watches Gabriel take a sip of whiskey. He smells of cigarette smoke tonight. Mouth tight and eyes weary. Gabriel keeps his eyes on his drink, and Jesse keeps his eyes on Gabriel. 

“I’m sick of this city.”

“How come?”

“It’s dirty.”

“Where you from?”

Gabriel pauses, “Seattle, originally. And I’m sick of that to.”

Jesse snorts. 

“How long have you and Ashe been in business?”

“Long enough,” Jesse replies. _He’s not stupid,_ he’s sharing drinks with a government agent. 

“I see.”

“Where do you call home?” 

“Los Lunas. Or just outside.”

“Miss it there?”

“Sometimes,” Jesse shrugs. He sucks on a lime slice halfheartedly. 

“I don’t miss Seattle. Grew up there, sister is still there. Work drags me all over. Home is less of a place, more of a feeling,” Gabriel stares at his whiskey, takes a sip and swallows slowly. 

“And the rain?”

“Not a witch, so I don’t melt,” Gabriel winks, and Jesse is quick to glance away. The tequila warms his belly. His eyes sting from the haze inside the bar. Gabriel touches his elbow.

“You have a place to crash tonight?”

“Was gonna….”

Gabriel takes his hand away, “Hotel called _Grand River Suites._ Room nine _._ Three blocks from here, your’s for tonight. If you want,” Gabriel places the room key beside Jesse’s empty bottle of tequila. Gabriel takes a double glance.

“—Shit kid, you can drink.”

“Fast metabolism, anything not Ominic-grade,” Jesse mutters, “Also. I’m not…”

“I won’t be back until tomorrow morning. Don’t worry.”

“Business?”

“Business,” Gabriel nods. 

Jesse takes the room key and Gabriel throws back the whiskey, and leaves the bar. Jesse gathers himself, stumbles the three blocks to the hotel, and lets himself inside room nine. He stops inside the door, decides to deadbolt it behind him. _The space smells of Gabriel Reyes_. Musk—cheap soap—warm dust. There’s a bag beside the bed, open, full of clothes. A collection of empty brown beer bottles on the nightstand. The door leading to the balcony is cracked. A faint breeze rustles the curtains. 

_He shouldn’t be here._

He lets himself into the bathroom. His bones ache, so he runs himself a bath. The water is warm—warm down to his marrow. 

And he falls asleep like that. 

“— _Jesus fuck_.”

Jesse jolts awake in the bathwater. It’s morning, Gabriel stands in the doorway. Orange light on the bathroom tiles—shirt wet with blood. Jesse’s breath catches in his chest. 

“ _Sorry_. Sorry, I didn’t mean to fall asleep,” Jesse thrashes, bathwater lurches out onto the floor. 

“That’s how people drown. You should've taken the bed. Dumb move.”

“I’ll clean up and leave. Sorry.”

“It’s fine. Cover yourself up kid, I gotta fix myself up,” Gabriel tosses Jesse a towel. He stands up from the bathtub, starts patting the water from his skin. Gabriel rips off his shirt and tosses it into the corner. There’s a stab wound in the soft of his belly. Not too deep, but deep enough that it’s still leaking blood onto the tiles. 

“You’re uh, bleeding.”

“Yeah, thanks for the news. Hand me that bag over there,” Gabriel says. Jesse snugs the towel around his waist and hands Gabriel the bag. Gabriel unzips the top and pulls out a thread and needle. Jesse swallows. Realizes people stitching themselves up in bathrooms is a common theme in his life. _Too common_. 

“Weak stomach?”

“Naw.”

“Mind wiping it down as I go?”

Jesse nods. He perches himself on the bathtub’s edge. Gently wipes the blood away as Gabriel sews himself back up so he can place the stitches. Gabriel grunts every so often. Five minutes later, he’s tying the last one off. Jesse throws the bloody cloth away, scrubs his hands in the sink and waits for Gabriel outside the bathroom. 

“It’ll be fine. Guy had a weak jab anyways,” Gabriel emerges two minutes later, fresh shirt. Fresh pants. The lingering smell of blood and that familiar musk. 

Jesse nods. Shuffles his bare feet on the floor. 

“You hungry? I’m hungry, know anything decent in this neighbourhood?”

“Yeah. There’s a good breakfast place two blocks down.”

“Good. Put some clothes on.”

It’s 11:45 AM. They sit on the patio overlooking the Rio Grande. They smoke cigarettes and drink horchata. Jesse watches Gabriel puff smoke and tap ash into an empty coffee mug. Knows he’s a fool, because this isn’t where he should be. 

“I’m leaving next week. Tell Ashe I can get her another shipment. Same price, if she’s in the market.”

“Yeah, I’ll let her know,” Jesse nods. 

Gabriel pauses. Flicks his cigarette butt onto the street before leaning both elbows on the plastic table, “I’m not gonna give you the whole _good guy_ spiel. Because fuck that. You seem smart. And this… this ain’t good for you. It’s not good for me.”

“Don’t recall asking for your opinion,” Jesse huffs. His legs jitter under the table. 

Gabriel smirks and leans back in his chair, “Good answer.”

Jesse watches Gabriel for a minute. Notices warm eyes—the scar at one corner of his mouth. Wonders how many peoples he’s killed, silently compares their sins. And in the same breath, ask him what Seattle is like. How he takes his coffee in the morning. What music he puts on the radio.

_Stupid_. Jesse kicks himself. _Stupid fool_. Gabriel Reyes is a business acquaintance and a government agent, and Jesse refuses to skin himself alive over the man. 

Jesse roams the scrub-brush that night. And for the entire week that follows. He loses himself a little, tries to forget the miserable man inside his skin. He chases jackals and howls with the coyotes. He soaks up September’s moon. Falls asleep in the sweet dust under the pine tree. 

It’s a new moon when Ashe finds him seventy miles outside of the city limits. She’s on her bike. Jesse recognizes the rumble of it’s engine and the cadence of her voice. 

“Jesse McCree! Get your sorry ass back here,” she hollers. The click of a loaded shotgun follows. 

Jesse startles, hackle raised. Just for a moment before he starts towards the sound of her voice. He drags his haunches across the ground, head lowered. Licks his teeth like a pup as he crawls to her feet. He bares the soft of his belly and Ashe lowers the shotgun. 

“Should know better than to run off. Dumb mutt,” Ashe kicks dust at him. Spits watery chewing tobacco onto the dessert floor. Watches Jesse thump his tail slowly, the whites of his teeth show. 

“—And don’t take me for a fool. I know you were skulking around with that government scum. Just ask’n for trouble.”

“So were you,” Jesse spits dirt from his mouth. He’s a naked, quivering mess of a man. Ashe looks down at him with disgust.

“Best pull yourself together. Remember we have work to do. And no low level, piece of shit government swine is gonna get in our way.”

Jesse groans, holds his stomach tight. Prays the ache in his bones to go away. 

Ashe leaves El Paso and Sombra the next day. Jesse follows. He decides that a week is too long in wolf form. His skin crawls for days after. He can’t hold water in his stomach. Sleep eludes him. 

Ashe has business south of New Mexico, down in the coastal city Los Mochis. Jesse thinks the salt and humid air will comfort him. _It doesn’t_. 

He’s sitting on the edge of a hotel bed, cigarette smouldering between his fingers. Ashe is on the couch, thumbing through the inventory of a cargo ship set to dock within the the week. She takes a sip of coffee and whiskey. Refuses to look up when she speaks to Jesse. 

“You’re unhappy.”

Jesse fiddles with his thumbs. 

“I see the way you look at me. _Resentful_. Like a dog who’s lost it’s bone. You think Gabriel Reyes could've done it for ya?”

Jesse clenches his fists. 

“This ain’t enough for you anymore? You can say it Jesse. I wouldn't judge you. Might shoot you in the knee though,” Ashe drawls.

“Yeah, well,” Jesse flicks ash onto the hotel carpet. He watches Ashe lick her thumb and flick to the next page. The gentle curve of his mouth downwards—the ink beneath her skin. The way she holds the coffee and whiskey in her mouth for a moment before swallowing. 

“Ah’ don’t want us to kill each other,” Jesse shrugs. And he means it. 

“Then don’t be a fool,” Ashe replies. 

Jesse chews this over later, down by the bay of Los Mochis. He kicks sand with his boots, hands shoved in his pockets. He pauses to watch a funeral wake along the shoreline. There’s flowers—food. Children throw sand at each other. An altar table is set up, but no casket. A young girl offers him a cinnamon cookie wrapped in paper. He takes it with a nod. It tastes like home, and he continues on down the beach. 

The sky is lavender—indigo. He finds secluded sand, strips off his clothes and hangs them in a shrub. There’s salt on his tongue, and the leftover taste of spice. He collapses down onto four legs, claws digging into the sand. Shakes out his coat and wanders into the tide. The water is warm against the soft of his belly. He laps at the salt waves—snarls at a gull that gets too close. Doesn’t notice the shadow of a man standing on the beach, until he wades out of the water. Muzzle wet and sandy, fur dripping water. 

“Want me to fetch your clothes?” Gabriel calls from down the shoreline. 

Jesse lower his head, ears point forward. Sniffs the air once—twice. _That familiar scent_. 

Gabriel sits down in the sand and lights a cigarette. Lets Jesse wander closer on his own free will. And after a minute, Gabriel offers an empty palm and Jesse presses the weight of his head into the calloused warmth. Such a tender understanding, Jesse’s back legs start to shake. 

“—I had my suspicions. Not for long,” Gabriel admits later that evening as they sit on a rooftop overlooking Los Mochis’s light district. Paper lanterns swing in the warm breeze—a rooftop herb garden smells of lemon and mint, and boasts marigolds in full bloom. Music trickles from the alleyways below. And Jesse sits with a cigarette between his fingers—he can’t take his eyes off Gabriel.

“Did my research, for business reasons. Ashe has quite the narrative. You, not so much.”

“Ashepicked me up in Los Lunas. Outside the reserve there,” Jesse catches himself, scowls at himself, “Ah’ was…”

“Misbehaving?” Gabriel offers. 

“Sure. Anyways, been running with her ever since. She feeds me. Clothes me. There’s something ‘bout… not hiding.”

Gabriel nods. 

“Anyways. That’s my story.”

“And before her. Before all the smoking and the drinking. You got family back in Los Lunas?”

“Just my ma’. Got hit by a truck off the reserve. She was a…” Jesse swallows, exhales smoke and watches it float into the orange sky, “Couldn’t even take her to the hospital because of that. Watched her bleed out on the road. _God damn_.”

Gabriel watches his face. Doesn’t say a word. 

“Anyways. Enough of that shit. Why are you in town?”

“Business.”

Jesse snorts, flicks a cigarette butt in Gabriel’s direction.

“Yeah. Just a happy coincidence you found me on the beach?”

Gabriel sighs, “I’m keeping tabs on Ashe. And by proximity, you. My business partners want to know if you two will infringe on our territory.”

“But you supplied the weapons,” Jesse frowns.

“I initiated a transaction. Sure. Do you think that shipment effected us? It was a point to get in contact with Ashe’s dealings. An inquiry. _An investigation_.” 

Jesse’s neck prickles. He wants to clamp a hand over Gabriel’s mouth—shut him up about all of it. Because if Jesse knows… Ashe will know. And Gabriel Reyes will be executed before stepping foot outside Los Mochis. _God_ , he wishes he’d been born a better liar. 

And so Jesse lurches forward—kisses Gabriel. Tastes the smoke on his tongue—the familiar spice. Licks Gabriel’s bottom lip as he pulls away. Half expects to get a cigarette butt to the soft of his arm for the _audacity_. But Gabriel just blinks slow, and raises the cigarette back to his lips. _Doesn’t miss a fucking beat._

“Reckon you should leave town,” Jesse mutters. 

“In a few days.”

“Then where?”

“Who knows,” Gabriel says. They sit in silence after that. The sky turns orange—pink—soft indigo. The music continues to rise from the alleyway below. Gabriel stands up and stretches, plucks a marigold from the garden box and hands it to Jesse. 

“Don’t call me soft.”

“I wouldn't dare,” Jesse says. 

“Stay out of trouble, and when—”

A click of a gun sounds. Gabriel pauses, smoke in his mouth, exhales it slowly as Ashe steps onto the rooftop. 

“Well ain’t this just the sweetest thing,” Ashe drawls, “Ah’ knew it was a mistake doing business with the likes of you.”

Gabriel doesn’t say a word. Flicks his cigarette butt onto the concrete, stares Ashe dead in the eye. _Unamused_. 

“We were talking business Ashe, ah’ swear. He didn’t—”

“Oh for christ sake Jesse. _Shut up_.”

“Ashe—”

“Don’t think for a moment I won’t shoot you too Jesse McCree. Life is cheap.”

Jesse shoots first. Or maybe it’s Ashe. He can’t tell, because when Ashe points the gun at Gabriel, he leaps forward. Ears ringing. Takes the second shot straight to the shoulder. Bone splinters. He collapses in wolf form, stunned from the impact. He starts to bleed out. Feels his fur go damp—wet with blood. His back legs are twitching as if he can still run away. The man in him finds that odd. 

And then Jesse passes out. 

He dreams about the desert. Weaving between sage brush and pine. The smell of wood smoke. A kettle boiling on the stovetop. A cabin with bells strung in the windows. The ting as bullet casings hit the ground. A gentle hand. Stretching his legs, as he eats up the ground beneath his paws. Chasing mule deer, but never catching. Wishes his ma’ had taught him how to hunt. The kettle still boils away… 

Jesse wakes up to the whistle of a kettle. He blinks. The windows are hung with white sheets. He’s covered from head to foot in wool blankets. He looks up to the ceiling—there’s a bundle of herbs strung above his bed. _Odd_. 

Sombra walks in a moment later. Jesse starts to paw at his blankets, eyes wide. 

“Stop fussing _amigo_. You’ll burst your stitches and then Gabriel will be pissed off again. We don’t want that, trust me.”

“Ashe—?”

“Not here.”

“…you?”

“Fixed you? Yes, I know, quite the miracle. You can thank my _abuela_ for passing on her gifts,” Sombra walks up to the bedside and flicks aside the blankets. Jesse is naked. His ribs strain against his skin as he breaths. He watches Sombra unwrap the cloth bandages. One around his shoulder—one around his thigh. Watches as Sombra packs a handful of dried herbs against his wounds. 

She carefully re-wraps the bandages. Washes her hands in a bowl beside the bed and flicks water into Jesse’s face. 

“You hungry?”

Jesse thinks for a minute—and then; “Yeah.”

“Good,” Sombra says, and shoves a bowl of broth into Jesse’s hands. 

“Thought we lost you for a few days. Couldn’t decide, veterinarian clinic or hospital? Beats me,” Sombra shrugs, and takes a bite of a candy bar, “You ran a high fever for three days after we plucked out the shrapnel. You woke up a few times.”

“Don’t remember.”

“Also, you’re in Colorado. Close to the New Mexico border for when you wanna make a run for it. But Gabriel thinks you won’t.”

“Gabriel…”

“Yeah.”

“How do you two,” Jesse swallows, throat dry. Watches Sombra take another vicious bite of the candy bar—wonders what the _fuck_ is going on.

“You know a double agent? I’m like, a double- _double_ agent. But between you and me, I work for myself at the end of the day.”

“So, you and Ashe. Double crossed?”

“Gabriel paid me the higher price. Ashe should've known. But she’s never been good at separating work and personal shit, better for me that way,” Sombra crumples the candy wrapper and tosses it into the corner, “—Gabriel has been after her for _long_ time. And he shouldn't be using resources such as myself, but hey. What the government doesn’t know,” Sombra winks. 

Jesse shuffles beneath the blankets. Swirls the broth in the bowl, bites his bottom lip.

“She’s gonna kill me.”

“You’re probably right _amigo_. That’s why we brought you here. Colorado.”

“Don’t matter.”

“Well then, don’t be a fool,” Sombra shrugs. 

Jesse stays in bed for two whole days. Sombra brings him soup, tends to his wounds. On the third morning, Jesse crawls out of bed and hobbles into the main room. Stands in the doorway for a minute—eyes squint, blinded by the snow beyond the cabin windows. A wood stove crackles in the corner. A desk shoved against the wall with stacks of computer terminals and wires with Sombra at the helm. 

“—Morning _amigo_. Hungry?” 

“Yeah.”

“Food in the fridge. Milk isn’t expired.”

“Thanks,” Jesse says, wraps the blanket around his shoulders a little tighter. 

He pours himself a bowl of cereal, sits down by the stove and watches the snow fall outside. His bones ache and the stitches sting. He closes his eyes for a moment—tries hard not to think about Ashe pulling the trigger on him. _Tries real hard_. 

He takes a bath. Sombra insists on adding herbs and salt to the bath water, and it does ease the soreness. He changes into wolf form and spooks Sombra in the kitchen. She almost spills her tea. That provides him with some joy, and he goes back to sniffing around the cabin. He settles on a couch, chin rest on the cushions. He stares out the window. 

“He’ll be around tonight,” Sombra says between the click of her keyboard. 

Jesse sighs and tucks his nose under the fluff of his tail. 

Gabriel walks into Jesse naked on the couch. He pauses, and then drops his bag to the floor and stomps the snow off his boots. 

Jesse startles. 

“You look less dead than the last time I saw you,” Gabriel says, tugs off his mittens and hangs them by the stove. 

“Where’ve you been.”

Gabriel raises an eyebrow, “Work. Sombra probably spilled the tea while I was gone. That’s sort of her specialty.”

“Yeah, something like that,” Jesse mutters. 

“I was our base in Colorado. Watchpoint _Grand Mesa_. Maybe you can see it someday.”

“I’m not going to prison,” Jesse snaps.

“No. You’re not,” Gabriel says, kneels down beside Jesse’s couch so that he’s eye level. Jesse sucks in a breath.

“Ashe didn’t hit you, did she.”

“Not a scratch.”

Jesse pauses, “Good.”

“Thanks. For taking the hit.”

“If she wanted me dead, I’d be dead,” Jesse says. _Factual_ , as if he doesn’t give a fuck. 

“She disappeared two days ago. I was keeping tabs on her down in Mexico, but the trail went cold. Know where she’d lay low?”

“I’m not—” Jesse grabs the blanket, knuckles white—teeth grit, “—I’m not a goddamn sell out.”

Gabriel frowns. Opens his mouth to say something, but snaps it shut. He turns away and disappears into the bedroom. Leaves the door open so Jesse can stare into the darkness. The bedroom is Sombra’s and the door is shut. _Locked_. So an hour later, the wood stove has burned down to blue coals. And Jesse stands up from the couch, snugs the wool blanket around his shoulders, and goes to bed. 

Gabriel is already beneath the sheets. The room smells of herbs—smoke—disinfectant. Jesse drops the blanket and crawls beneath the sheets. Gabriel is on the far side of the bed—arms tucked in, back to Jesse. The bed is warm, and he falls into a dreamless sleep. 

Their ankles are tangled together the next morning. Jesse is the first to wake up, nose pressed between Gabriel’s shoulder blades. _It’s cold_. The wood stove must’ve died during the night. There’s frost on the window. Sombra must be gone.

Jesse slides out of bed. The floor is cold. He pads into the main room, stokes the fire with a fresh log and kindling. Doesn’t notice as Gabriel saunters out in a pair of sweatpants and a black t-shirt. 

“Morning.”

“Morning,” Jesse says. 

Gabriel rummages in the kitchen cupboards. Puts a kettle on the stove—pulls out a jar of coffee grounds. _Silence._ The kettle hisses and spits. Gabriel spoons out coffee into a french-press—lets it steep for three minutes on the dot, and pours two cups of black coffee. Gabriel hands one to Jesse and pulls up a chair to the wood stove. He watches Gabriel cradle the chair backwards and takes a long swallow of coffee. 

“We should probably talk.”

Jesse nods. Squeezes his coffee cup a little harder. 

“I work for the government. Blackwatch, specifically. I’ve been undercover for the past is six months. Elizabeth Caledonia was part of a larger project. But that doesn’t matter now,” Gabriel rocks back on the chair, “Sombra is a personal acquaintance. I’d appreciate it if you don’t mention her to my colleagues.”

“Yeah, sure thing,” Jesse says.

“I was never supposed to… get involved.”

“With me?”

“Sure. I’ll spare you the bullshit. I had a lapse in professional judgement. But I hope something good comes of it.”

Jesse nods, slow. Thinks about smoking cigarettes with Gabriel over the Rio Grande. The rooftop sunset in Los Mochis. The fact he took a bullet for the man. _The whole fucking mess of a situation_. 

“You’ve been through a lot. _Fuck_ , I don’t even know the whole of it. But you got a good head on your shoulders. I like that. If you want a job, it’s yours.”

“Working for the government?”

“No. Working for Blackwatch.”

“I don’t wanna be used again. I don’t wanna…” Jesse swallows. The burn marks on his arms and back prickle with heat. He scratches at them. Gabriel watches. 

“Ah’ ain’t telling you anything. About Ashe—about all of it. Ain’t a squealer.”

“Fair enough.”

“Good. _Good_ ,” Jesse nods. 

“You can stay here. You can go, no one’s gonna stop you. But when you’re ready, let me know,” Gabriel says, and swallows the last of his coffee. 

“And you?”

“Back to work. No rest for the wicked,” Gabriel says. 

Jesse stays at the cabin. Stokes the fire—sweeps the floor. Chops firewood. Sleeps. Slips into wolf form one night and romps in the fresh snow. Breathes in pine—smoke—the comforts of home. He forgets himself a little, and sleeps in the snowdrifts. Chases field-mice and calls to the moon. Early one morning, he watches a herd of mule deer move across the landscape. His ears swivel—he listens to the sound of their hooves, the huff of their breathes between the silence. 

Jesse forgets time. The human structure of it, and stalks the deer herd for seven days. Heals a little piece of himself. 

Gabriel calls him back one afternoon. He stands on the cabin’s porch, hands to his mouth, and hollers Jesse’s name.

Three minutes pass before Jesse appears from between the pine trees. 

“Morning,” Gabriel calls. He’s bundled up in a tuque and scarf. 

Jesse trots up the porch steps—presses his head into Gabriel’s mitten. Gabriel pats his head gently and scratches behind his left ear. 

“Well, fuck. This is different,” Gabriel mutters. He opens the door to the cabin, lets Jesse inside first. Watches as Jesse shakes snow and pine needles off his fur before turning back into a naked man. 

“Sorry, the stoves out,” Jesse blurts. 

“I don’t give a shit. Put some clothes on.”

“Right,” Jesse nods. He disappears into the bedroom, tugs on some clothes and comes out to Gabriel starting the fire. 

“I brought food. You look hungry.”

“Wouldn’t be lying,” Jesse says. He watches Gabriel pull out a loaf of bread, cold turkey, and cheese. Pulls up a chair, watches as Gabriel pulls out a butter knife. 

“You should get that looked at,” Gabriel jabs the knife towards Jesse’s left arm. To the ink beneath his skin, and he tugs the sleeve of his sweater down to hide it. 

“Yeah, probably should,” he mutters. 

They eat cold sandwiches and smoke cigarettes by the wood stove. Tap ash into a tin mug. Listen to the fire crackle to life. 

“Do you like this?” Gabriel asks. 

“Hm?”

“The snow. Colorado… _this_.”

Jesse sucks butter from his fingertip. Thinks about that one for a minute; “Yeah. The snows alright. I like Mexico though, feels comfortable. Like home, but not really. I miss the heat.”

“Yeah, beats blizzards for five months straight.”

“You?”

“Don’t mind it here. I’m getting deployed to Gibraltar next month. Training seminar. Weather is great there this time of year. You wanna come?”

“Never been.”

“That’s fine. We’d need to organize your ID first. Get your papers in line.”

“Sounds like a hassle.”

“Wouldn’t be. Blackwatch has special jurisdiction, plus I never wrote you up,” Gabriel exhales smoke, “Some details are best left aside.”

“Thanks, for that. For everything.”

Gabriel shrugs—opens the stove, flicks his cigarette butt into the fire then leans forward and kisses Jesse on the mouth. Mouth open, eyes lidded. Jesse can taste smoke—pine—peppermint toothpaste. _Familiar_. He shudders a little, moans and grabs Gabriel by the front of his jacket. Gabriel slides hands up the back of Jesse’s sweater, grips the small of his spine. Jesse knocks over the tin cup—spills cigarette ash on the floor. 

Jesse lays on the bed after they fuck. Cum drying on his stomach and between his legs. Gabriel lays beside him, face pressed into the crook of Jesse’s neck, half asleep. Both too lazy to clean up after themselves. Gabriel traces the burn marks on his skin, maps out the tiny constellations.

“So I guess you’re like, my boss now.”

Gabriel snorts, “—Don’t give a shit.”

Jesse grins. It falls from his mouth when he thinks about Ashe. 

“She ain’t gonna let me go that easy.”

“She will,” Gabriel says, “You can take a break from all of this, overseas. I’ll have an agent keep tabs on her down south. Sombra can keep an ear out.”

“Don’t know her…” Jesse mutters, shakes his head.

“Actually, I know her quite well. Her files been on my desk for a long while.”

“What about mine?”

Gabriel pauses, “You don’t got a file Jesse. Made sure of that. Actually, wasn’t even sure you two were working together for a while. She kept your name off paper. Smart woman, I’ll give her that.”

Jesse shifts, presses himself against Gabriel’s bare skin. Closes his eyes, thinks about laying beside Ashe on that hotel mattress. Naked—drinking cheap beer. That orange sunlight—woozy, the hotel room air thick with smoke. 

“She was family,” Jesse says. 

“Yeah, I know kid. _I know_.” 

Jesse presses his mouth against Gabriel’s shoulder. Has the silent realization that he could never pull the trigger on _Elizabeth Caledonia Ashe_. And _fuck_ , that makes him angry. He swallows that down like bad whiskey, and keeps that knowledge to himself. 


End file.
